


Oh What a Night

by Daydreamingworldsunknown



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Post-The Sign of Three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daydreamingworldsunknown/pseuds/Daydreamingworldsunknown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then, it struck her. </p>
<p>"You're not being John. You're being yourself."  He said it only months before. </p>
<p>And two years ago, "You do count." </p>
<p>Sherlock needs John. He even needs Mycroft and Lestrade. Now, Molly grasps his need for her too. </p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Or, How Molly and Sherlock realize just how much they count to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh What a Night

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock (unfortunately), I just love to borrow the characters every once and a while.

London, like any other city, stayed up all night. Yet London, or at least Baker Street, seemed quiet tonight, save for the thoughts in her head. 

Despite knowing Sherlock Holmes for a number of years (for two of which he'd been "dead"), she has only stepped foot in 221B three times. Once for that ill-fated Christmas party and twice since Sherlock's return. 

So much had changed since the Fall. She'd met Tom, gotten engaged, become close friends with John and Mary. She thought she'd moved on too. When he came back, all the tall and dark glory of him, she felt that bubble grow inside and threaten the complacency and contentment she'd made in life. She could never stop caring altogether, despite keeping her distance. Tonight, she decided to stop pretending. 

Sherlock may think her oblivious at times, but if Molly never failed to observe something, it was Sherlock Holmes. She watched him slip away from the reception early with loss in his eyes and insecurity in his posture. This is why, in the chill of midnight, she left the warm loneliness of her apartment to make a call at 221B Baker Street. 

Finally, she reaches the door and rings the bell twice. 

Several loud thump-scuffs and the door swings open. Sherlock looms in the dim hall still dressed in his suit. "A case?" He scans her face critically. 

"No," She takes a steadying breath and straightens, "I am coming in and making tea. Then we will sit and talk about why I'm here." He moves aside and lets her slip past him. Molly feels slightly powerful as she takes in his perplexed expression and stiff posture before following him up the stair and into 221B. 

Sherlock sheds his suit jacket and shoes only to sprawl out on the sofa and settle into his thinking pose. 

Halfway into the kitchen, Molly realizes that she has no idea where the tea is kept or even if there are clean cups and---is that blood in the kettle? She sighs away frustration and surveys the room, but finds no clues. "Sherlock, do you have an extra kettle?" 

Shifting fabric and a long-suffering sigh, then, "In the cupboard beneath the stove. Cups are behind it and the tea is in the shelf by the door." 

"How did you---never mind." Molly feels slightly flustered, but goes about brewing the tea and then preparing their cups. She still remembers how he takes it, even after all this time. 

Sentiment. 

By the time, she finishes, Sherlock has moved to his chair. He watches closely, deducing her every move and expression. Molly hands him a cup and settles into John's chair. Normally, he would have blurted all of his conclusions by now, but he has adopted a few social niceties since his return.

Molly planned the speech, recited it repeatedly in the cab and as she walked toward the door, but now the words seem to float off somewhere. The first thing that comes to mind is, "You left early." Only after she says it, does Molly realize how like an accusation it sounds. 

After a long pause, Sherlock sets his tea on the table with a faint clink and looks at her with his usual blankness. "You know me, Molly; a party is not really to my taste." 

"No, maybe not, but it was John's wedding, not a party. So, that isn't the real reason is it?" For a brief moment, his expression changes, but his mask settles to quickly for Molly to identify the emotion. Somehow, this bolsters her confidence even more. 

"I did my duty as best man." The rigid mask sticks firmly, but his body tenses.

Molly, though unfamiliar with 221B is somewhat an expert of Sherlock Holmes and while she may not deduce whether her boss is having an affair or that her neighbor is a nervous eater, she knows when Sherlock is cornered. So instead of speaking again, Molly just raises an eyebrow and waits. He may be a clever man, but he is not a patient one. 

"I was no longer needed." 

"For being so observant, Sherlock, sometimes you are so blind. John looked for you and Mary was quite disappointed when they found you'd left." Molly pauses and thinks carefully about her next words, "You seem to forget that we are your friends. We want you around even when you act like an overgrown child. Do you think after everything, after two years, that we want you to disappear again?" 

"You all were rather angry about that." 

Molly feels her lips twitch and places her cold tea on the table. They look fondly on each other for a moment before she sees his face smooth out again. 

"I know today was hard for --" 

"If that is all," Sherlock abruptly stands; his left hand spastically clenches (something he picked up from John, no doubt). 

She could leave it alone. She could leave Baker Street. She could even delude herself into thinking that Sherlock is fine and that he will adjust. 

But Molly can't leave it like this. Looking at him, most people see a cold sociopath. Molly sees his brokenness and his strength. She sees his caged heart locked up so tightly even he won't admit it's there. Suddenly, she finds herself breathless and lost for words. How would John fix this? What would he say? 

Then, it struck her. 

_"You're not being John. You're being yourself."_ He said it only months before. 

And two years ago, _"You do count."_

Sherlock needs John. He even needs Mycroft and Lestrade. Now, Molly grasps his need for her too. 

She stands and steps toward him until his chest and broad shoulders are eye-level. "Things are going to change, Sherlock." 

"I know." Shadows hide his face at this angle and his voice is broken glass, but he makes no move to leave. 

"Let me finish. Some things will change, but what matters most won't. John will still come on cases. You'll forget Lestrade's name and drive the Yard's finest up a wall." Molly allows herself a little laugh. "Mycroft will continue being overprotective. You will still crash into the morgue and coerce bodies and parts right from under me. Maybe one day you'll say I've changed my hair. Maybe another you'll tell me how nice my lipstick looks. And, maybe, I'll play along even if you don't mean--" 

"I always mean what I say to you, Molly Hooper." 

Sherlock goes to back away, but Molly grabs his cuff. The buttons dig into her fingers. He meets her eyes and his mask vanishes, leaving raw shock and tenderness behind. 

She basks in the honesty and warmth of his expression for a moment. Sherlock allowed himself more vulnerability since The Fall, but even after knowing him for so many years; it still takes her by surprise. 

This isn't Sherlock manipulating or pretending to feel.

This isn't a robot with a human face. 

Standing before Molly is a man. 

The man she-- 

"I broke up with Tom." She blurts out suddenly and watches him avert his eyes and shift. "You knew."

"Yes." 

"You deduced it?" 

He only scoffs. 

"Of course you did." She says, "Did you deduce why?" 

He does not answer. 

"All right, I'll tell you then. You." She looks away now and focuses on the wall still covered in wedding lists and papers. "All those months ago, you said I deserved happiness. And, now you say that you mean everything you say to me. So, what if my happiness is you? Would you still mean it?"

Molly's heart rushes in her ears and tears blur her vision as the silence stretches. This time, Molly turns away, burning with embarrassment and anger. 

She makes it to the door, saying, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come" before hurrying down the stairs and out into the cool night air. 

Baker Street stands quietly around her, watching. The few passing cars seem to slow down and judge as they pass. Molly can hear only the sound her own breath, as she leans against the icy glass of Speedy's front window. 

It was a terrible idea to come here tonight. She knows that now. No matter what she said or did for him, Sherlock would always keep her at a distance. He would always put the work over everything else. But, she'd seen how he looked at Janine at the wedding. There was something open in his face and she had hoped--in his heart as well. Before the Fall, before he came back, Molly never denied that she loved him. 

She had hoped that seeing John and Mary would help him realize that love built not destroyed. And, that the right person wouldn't tear you up, but slip into the broken bits and hold them together. 

Embarrassment washes though her again and this time Molly feels the weight of it dragging her downward, but firm hands grip her elbows before she hits the pavement and arms wrap around her waist pulling her into a broad chest. 

Though muffled by the coat, Molly immediately recognizes Sherlock's voice as he says, "I still mean it, Molly. I will always mean it."

**Author's Note:**

> If you are reading this note, you made it to the end. Yay!  
> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I really hope you enjoyed it. :)
> 
> Constructive criticism and reviews are always welcome.


End file.
